Until the Very End
by Melika Elena
Summary: Coulson decides to let some of the Avengers know he's still alive; to make up for his deception, he lets them camp on his BUS while they track down the Winter Soldier. Along the way, our favorite Captain learns how to meditate, brew the perfect cup of tea, and just what all the fuss is about over a children's book series.


_Post Captain America: Winter Soldier & Agents of SHIELD Season One._

He was in Germany the day he learned that Phil Coulson was alive.

"Rogers," he said into the untraceable cell phone after it rang. The less people who knew what he was up to, the better.

"Hey," Natasha's husky voice came through, tense and strained. Steve stilled from what he was doing—sifting through uncovered HYDRA records, hoping for any mentions of Bucky, or any locations that Bucky might go to, or find familiar.

"What's going on?"

"Someone's rebuilding SHIELD."

" _Someone_?" If it was Fury or Hill, she would've just said so.

Natasha paused. "It seems as though Fury still had more secrets to tell," she said. "Coulson's alive, Steve."

" _What?_ "

"I don't understand a lot of it myself," Steve could picture Natasha now, frowning, pinching the bridge of her nose in a way that he long suspected she picked up from Coulson himself. "But—we can find out."

"How?"

"By talking to the man himself, of course," she said, just a touch dryly. "I've already made contact. He's coming here in a few hours."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "He sure gets around fast for a dead man."

"He has a super high-tech plane, I guess. Has had it all along, with even a special team."

"So we've been replaced," Steve half-joked.

"Hmph," grunts Natasha, her true feelings on the matter all in her tone.

"Does anyone else know?" Steve asks, after a moment of quiet.

"From the team?" Natasha sighs. "Just you and me. I'm going to tell Clint—it's only right. Thor, obviously, is out of the picture right now. And I don't know when we should tell Tony and Bruce."

"We shouldn't keep it from them," Steve said firmly. He would definitely be telling Sam, who would be getting back in a few days from DC after taking care of urgent business.

"I'm not suggesting we do," Natasha said. "Look, let's just see Coulson first and then decide what to do."

"Fine," Steve conceded, an odd twist in his gut. Just what did Fury get them all into now?

The plane—which Coulson apparently called "The BUS"—was impressive, and Steve tried not to smile as he saw Coulson's familiar silhouette descend from the ramp. Behind him he saw four silhouettes, although he couldn't make out their features.

"Captain," Coulson greeted with a big smile on his face. "Natasha."

Steve knew that Natasha could see the figures, too—Coulson's new 'team'—and he suspected her repressed jealousy, but happiness at seeing her mentor again won out and she smiled, pulling Coulson into a rare hug.

"Oof!" Coulson said, surprised, but he hugged her back, too, and if there were tears in his eyes, no one said a word.

"It's good to see you again," Steve said as he gave Coulson a hearty handshake.

"Likewise," Coulson said, and Steve noticed the lines around his steely, sad eyes. HYDRA's betrayal did a number on him.

They followed him into The Bus, where Coulson introduced his team. "Natasha, you remember Agents May and Triplett."

They all nodded politely at each other, and Steve could see Natasha relax just slightly. These were evidently people she trusted, even pre-HYDRA, and she trusted them to look after Coulson.

"Ma'am," Steve inclined his head slightly at Agent May and received a disbelieving eyebrow in response, although her dark eyes gleamed a little.

He held out his hand to Triplett. "It's a pleasure, man," he said.

Triplett gave him a big, toothy grin that reminded him of Sam. "The pleasure is mine," he said.

"You knew Agent Triplett's grandfather," Coulson said, taking out a picture from his back pocket—did he keep Captain America paraphernalia on his person at all times?—and showed him a picture of the Howling Commandos, pointing to a man with the same happy grin as Triplett.

"Oh, yeah," Steve said, grinning, "your grandfather was a great man, as I'm sure you know."

Triplett seemed to puff up with pride. "He was."

Coulson directed them both to the two female agents. "Natasha, I don't think you've met Agent Simmons—"

"No, but I've heard great things," Natasha said, putting out her hand, which the woman, flushing, shook.

"It's an honor," Simmons murmured shyly.

Natasha frowned for a moment. "When I heard about your work at the Academy, I always heard your name in conjunction with another—who was it?"

Immediately Steve and Natasha knew it was the wrong thing to say, for Simmons deflated, hunching her shoulders inward and muttering, "Fitz. His name is Fitz."

Natasha looked at Coulson sharply. Simmons' use of present tense conflicted with the mournful look in her eyes.

"Agents Fitz and Simmons nearly died due to the actions of a double agent," Coulson explained, a very slight emphasis on the word 'nearly'.

"Ward," Natasha said with thinned lips. Word had quickly spread amongst SHIELD's top (loyal) agents about which agents were HYDRA and which ones were still SHIELD.

"Yes," Coulson confirmed with a hardened look. "Agent Fitz is still alive, but is currently in a coma, and his exact condition is still unknown."

"I'm sorry," Steve said awkwardly to Simmons.

"Thank you," she responded clearly, and for the first time Steve realized she spoke in a British accent. It reminded him of Peggy and he smiled kindly at her.

"I don't believe we've met," Natasha said, a quizzical look on her brow to the other young woman with wavy hair and a wide smile.

"Skye," she stuck her hand out in a frank way. She had heard about the infamous Natasha Romanoff, but she also lived with Melinda May for several months, and wasn't intimidated by strong women.

"Skye is our resident hacker and newest agent," Coulson said, puffing up like a proud father. "She's come a long way."

"AC is the greatest," Skye said with an affectionate smile towards the older man.

"AC?" Natasha raised an eyebrow at both the exchange and the nickname.

"Agent Coulson," Steve responded, understanding immediately.

Skye turned to him, brightening. "Exactly! Although, technically, he's Director Coulson now…"

"So is he… DC?" Steve struggled for a moment.

"Please, don't get her started," moaned Triplett. "She's been playing AC/DC for ages now."

Natasha chuckled while Steve frowned. Natasha didn't even look at Steven when she said, "1970s hard rock band."

"Right," Steve responded, getting out his little notepad and pencil and writing it in.

Skye unashamedly tried to look at his list.

"Well," Coulson cleared his throat. "Let's give you a tour, shall we?"

It was evident that this team had been through a lot with each other, and their dynamics, though subdued, had an undercurrent of playfulness and familiarity. Steve felt a bit of wistfulness at that, thinking of the Howling Commandos, of Howard, of Peggy, of Bucky—

But then everyone drifted off to sleep, leaving him and Natasha alone with Coulson, who painstakingly recounted everything that happened to him upon waking up in 'Tahiti' to the present.

Steve found himself being simultaneously grateful to, and infuriated with, Fury. While he was glad that Coulson was alive, it seemed like his suffering hadn't ended with his rebirth, and Fury's blocking of Coulson's questions seemed to prolong the suffering unnecessarily.

"I'm sure you're wondering who else knows," Coulson said. "A lot of people in SHIELD who did know are dead. HYDRA knows, obviously, so I suppose it's not worth trying to keep it a secret. Fury's death should remain a secret, of course, but if you want to tell the rest of the Avengers, that's fine with me."

Steve nodded. Coulson seemed to understand Steve's resentment against secrecy.

"I'm sure you want to tell Barton," Coulson smiled knowingly at Natasha, whose fingers were drumming on the tabletop.

Natasha's lips quirked—her version of a sheepish grin—and she stopped. "It can wait," she said, despite her anxiousness.

"Go ahead," Coulson prodded gently. "I'll still be here."

There's another meaning in the words, and Natasha's eyes glinted suspiciously before she nodded brusquely and turned away to call her partner.

Coulson and Steve sat quietly for a moment, watching the steam from their mugs—filled with tea made by Simmons—rise and fade away.

"Why tell us now?" Steve asked. It had been a couple months since SHIELD fell.

"The first few weeks were chaotic—making sure Fitz was alive; figuring out which bases could be secured and which ones were entirely in HYDRA's control. Who's still loyal to SHIELD; who _wants_ to still work at SHIELD. The new chain of command… everything had to be sorted, and this," Coulson spread his hands out, "served as headquarters. But now that we've got some things settled down, I think it's time, as the new head, for me to come out of hiding. And, I must admit, I need the Avengers," he said with a slight smile. "Not necessarily as agents, or as soldiers, but your good names, if you're willing to spare that. We need some of Tony's tech and brain power, we need clear-level thinking from people like Banner, and we need people like you, who people trust." Coulson sighed. "I understand if you don't want to. You were treated badly by SHIELD, I know. But even if you don't want to, that's fine. Why you're here—or rather, why _we're_ here, is because I want to help you."

Steve cocked his head. "Help me?" He asked, still trying to process everything Coulson said.

Coulson's lips quirked. "Find James Barnes, of course," he said.

Steve stilled. "Find Bucky?" He had always liked Coulson, but he asked, warily, "Why?"

Coulson didn't seem offended. "From a practical standpoint," he admitted, "James Barnes as the Winter Soldier is a definite threat, whether or not he's still being—controlled by HYDRA. But also, you helped save SHIELD, even when it did you wrong. We owe you this." Coulson's lips twisted into not quite a smile. It's such a familiar expression that Steve felt a wave of relief crash over him. Coulson really _was_ alive. This wasn't just a dream.

Steve nodded once, in a sharp, jerky motion. He's stunned. "Okay," he heard himself say. "Okay. But we're doing this my way. No secrets. No lies. Everyone's on the same page."

"Of course," Coulson said, but the words rang a little bit hollow. Steve felt a heaviness inside himself—because even after everything, he didn't know if he could trust anymore. "Of course."

Another month passed. The few leads they did have were dead ends, and Coulson and Natasha used up what meager contacts they had left to help, but since the fall of SHIELD, no one had seen the Winter Soldier.

Steve tried not to give up hope, but it was difficult to stay in high spirits. Even when they met up with Sam, who seemed to fit effortlessly into the group, Steve felt his hopes dwindling. Whether he was Bucky or the Winter Soldier, he was a man who would be found if he wanted to be. Perhaps Steve needed to respect his wishes, let him go.

Coulson's team—in addition to Steve's own—recognized his low spirits, and all were very kind to him in their own ways.

Upon noticing his insomnia, Agent May casually remarked that she was always up early and didn't mind company during her morning meditation sessions. After some initial hesitation, Steve realized that Melinda May was not a person who said things she didn't mean, and he ended up joining her most mornings. It took him a while to clear his mind and perfect her instructions, but when he was able to he _did_ feel more at peace with the state of things.

Trip and Sam seemed to have some sort of prank war going on, and either of them usually tried to recruit Steve.

"You'll even out the teams," Sam insisted. "I'm pretty sure Trip gets help from Skye regularly."

Usually Steve declined, feeling guilty every moment he wasn't spending trying to find Bucky, but sometimes he acquiesced, and couldn't bring himself to regret the looks on Trip and Skye's faces when he and Sam got them good.

Simmons, when not by Fitz's bedside, was a good companion simply because she was quiet. Sometimes they spoke of England, and Simmons was curious, but unobtrusive. She let him say what he wanted to without prodding and prying, quietly accepting of what he chose to tell her and what he kept private. Steve had always been a coffee guy, but he came to enjoy Simmons' tea. He didn't think of Peggy, of wondering of hypothetical lives together, if perhaps she would've converted him to tea, too.

It's not 1944, it's 2014 and his conversion was now. He stopped those thoughts he didn't have.

In the evenings, after long days of working, Skye helped Steve work through his list. She had almost immediately asked him about it, and then taken it upon herself to add several (dozen) more things that he just _had_ to know about.

Trip told Steve that if Skye was bothering him that he would take care of it.

She means well, he had said. She likes you. She trusts you.

And Steve could tell by the way Trip said it that wasn't simply because he was Captain America, and that her trust meant something.

I don't know what I've done to earn it, he'd told Trip.

Trip had just smiled and shook his head. You have no idea, do you? Was all he said, before walking away.

While Skye usually respected his limited time, one afternoon she insisted that he needed to clear out an entire weekend. Stifling a smile, Steve wondered, suspicious, "May I ask why?"

Skye gave Steve one of her usual bright, sweet smiles, dark eyes sparkling. She jumped a little on her toes, as she tended to do when she was excited, and said, "Steven." She tended to call him that, and he never asked why. "Do you know who Harry Potter is?"

But first, she gave him homework. Seven large books worth of homework.

"At first, I was debating whether or not we should just watch the movies," Skye babbled as she dropped the hardcovers onto his meager desk in his bunk. "But, you know, once Trip and Sam and Simmons got wind of the plan, then they all insisted that you had to read the books first, so, yeah. Read all of these, and when you're done, then we'll watch the movies."

Steve looked at the books with dread. While he was a decent student, he preferred working with his hands, drawing and manual labor, although pre-serum he wasn't very good at the latter.

Skye saw the look on his face and gave him another smile. "You'll like it," she insisted. "I promise. There's no way you wouldn't."

Steve raised an eyebrow at the certainty in her tone. "How are you so sure?" He wanted to know.

But Skye shook her head. "Read it," she said, "and you'll see why."

Skye had given him a month to read the books, but it took Steve half the amount of time. ("Don't worry," Simmons coaxed, in the beginning, when he told her he didn't think he could read all those books in time, "it'll take you less time the more you read them.")

Steve flew through the books, devouring the adventures of Harry, Hermione, and Ron. It was all he could do not to lock himself in his room and read them. He thought about them constantly: during morning sessions with May; meetings with Coulson, Sam, and Natasha; breakfast, lunch, and dinner; when he showered—he even began to have dreams about them.

Skye and Trip were on a long mission and so Steve was unable to talk to Skye at all during his readings. Simmons was a good substitute, cheerfully talking about the characters and delving into "backstory" that had been learned through subsequent interviews with the author and something on the internet called "Pottermore." Incredibly bright, Simmons always knew, based on where Steve told her he was in the books, exactly what she could talk about with him and what she knew he hadn't read yet.

When he told her, she flushed. "It's not necessarily about intelligence," she explained bashfully, "I've just read the books so many times I have them memorized. My favorite book has always been The Prisoner of Azkaban but Fitz always liked—" and here she paused, looked stricken.

Steve cleared his throat. "Fitz always liked…?"

"The Philosopher's Stone," Simmons said quietly. "He said—he said that one was the most magical."

Steve smiled kindly at her. "I've only read the first five," he said, "but I might have to agree with him so far."

Simmons began to tear up. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping away her tears, "I'm being so silly. It's not as if he's…"

Steve shook his head. "No, you're not," he said firmly. "You're—it's okay to grieve. To mourn. What happened to you was awful and from what I've heard you two are very close."

Simmons gave him a tremulous smile. "He's been beside me," she said, "the—the whole damn time."

Steve could sense that her out of character swearing was in part of a reference to something, and that it wasn't some pop culture reference he didn't know, but something specific to her and Fitz. "He was with you 'til the end of the line," he murmured, understanding.

"Yes," Simmons breathed. "Exactly that."

This time it was Steve who fixed them tea, and if it was slightly too hot and too bitter, well, Simmons drank her whole cup, anyway.

HYDRA reigned terror and for the next few weeks Steve, Natasha, and Sam were sent on various missions to take back or hold down various SHIELD bases. Coulson's investigations on the Winter Soldier continued to be slim and frustrating, and even when he got new information it was usually full of dead ends and outdated information. It was time to call it.

"I appreciate what you're doing," Steve said to Coulson one night, "but maybe it's time we part ways for now. You have a lot on your plate, and I know this is cutting into that time."

Coulson fidgeted. He did that, sometimes, lately, a hand flex. Steve saw Melinda May watching him, carefully, and so while he remained suspicious, Steve didn't butt into their business. "Fair enough," he said. "I just wish we could've helped you more."

Steve shrugged. "One of your leads might hold," he said. "We're going to find out. But we'll keep in touch. Call if you need us. And- thanks for everything, Coulson." He held out his hand.

Coulson shook it. "The honor is mine," he said.

Steve left Coulson's office and, for the first time in what felt like months, bumped into Skye. "Hey, stranger!" She said brightly. "Long time no see."

Steve smiled. "Last time you saw me I was only one book three," he said.

Her eyes lit up. "And now?" She said eagerly. "Simmons won't tell me anything!"

"I'm finished," he admitted.

Skye squealed. "And?" She said excitedly. "Did you like them? Oh my god, now we can watch the movies this weekend! I think I'm off, so maybe you can swing it? Bribe Sam to cover for you? He likes those weird cosmic brownies, right?"

Steve swallowed. He hadn't realized, until he ran into Skye, how much he would miss the BUS life. The easy camaraderie was intoxicating, and despite the shadow of grief that followed all of them, they all lightened that load a little bit. He would miss them.

Skye looked at his still, solemn face and her own fell. "You're leaving," she said.

"Coulson has enough on his plate than to help me," Steve said. "I'll still go on missions when I can, but—I have to do this, Skye. I have to find him."

Skye's eyes, dark and shiny, flickered away and then back to his. She crossed her arms, huddling into herself. "I understand," she said, and Steve remembered hearing whispers about Skye's mission to find her parents, find her family. She hadn't told him herself but he had hoped that one day they would be close enough to do so. Like it would come up, perhaps, late one night, on the couch, after watching a movie—

"I'll come back," Steve said gently. "We still have those movies to watch, remember?"

And Skye's heard whispers, too, of Steve's romantic promise to a brave war hero about dances and two left feet years and years ago. How he visited her every other month, like clockwork. She nodded. He was a man who kept his promises. "That's true," she said.

Steve stood there, awkwardly, not sure what he should do, until he remembered what he wanted to say to her-

"Thank you for making me read those books," he said softly. "I—I think I understand why you did it now."

Skye laughed. "Because it's an important cultural phenomenon of this century?"

Steve smiled—her humor as a defense mechanism was something no one needed to whisper about; it was painfully obvious. "No," he said, "because you knew it would appeal to me. Friendship and bravery; loyalty and choices."

"It's our choices that show us who we truly are, far more than our abilities," Skye quoted. "It's kind of your motto."

Steve had to laugh at that. "True," he said. "That's pretty spot on." He cleared his throat. "Maybe I need a new motto, though."

Skye cocked her head. "Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live," Steve said.

"Do not pity the dead," Skye said quietly. "Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love." Her smile was watery, but her eyes were as bright and lively as ever. "Go find him, Steve. Bring him home."

Steve swallowed. "Thank you," he whispered, and then, unexpectedly, before he knew what he was about, moved, and, awkwardly, put his arms around her. She wasn't the smallest person on the plane—she was, he noticed, a bit taller than Simmons, maybe even May, but her frame was still small.

He was going to make it brief, in case he overstepped, but Skye threw her arms around him and held him tightly.

And if he, unable to help himself, kissed her briefly on the head, it was more than repaid when, as she pulled back, Skye kissed _him_ on the cheek, and Steve felt her damp cheek against his.

She rocked back on her heels, pulling her arms away, curling her fingers around her long sleeves to wipe her cheeks.

She cleared her throat. "What was your favorite part?" Skye asked.

"The seventh book," Steve said, feeling his throat tighten thinking of it. "When… when Harry was in the forest. About to face Voldemort. His parents and Sirius and Remus were there, resurrected by the stone, and he asked them, 'You'll stay with me?' and his father said—"

"Until the very end," Skye murmured. "Of course."

He and Natasha and Sam packed quickly, and, along with Skye and Coulson, the rest of the small team—Simmons, Trip, and May—came and sent them off.

Simmons made Steve take packets of tea, May and Natasha talked safe houses, and Trip gave Sam shit for the sheer amount of cosmic brownies he was stuffing in his pack.

Skye found Steve, in the moments before, and said, "Promise you'll come back?"

And Steve smiled and said, "Always."

\- And then they both cringed.

"It would be so much better if Snape wasn't the one who said that," Steve sighed. "I can't _believe_ Harry named his kid after that guy."

"Right?" Skye said. "And the context is so _creepy_. Did Harry not hear the part where Snape was willing to sell him and his dad to Voldemort so Snape could bang his mom? Did he also just forget about the years of unnecessary cruelty to him and his friends—especially Neville?"

Steve shook his head. "It's why Hermione was the brains of the operation," he said. "Speaking of, if she was so smart, why did she marry Ron and not Harry?"

"Oh, Steve," Skye winced, "don't—don't go there. You don't want to, I _promise_."

Steve looked skeptical, but nodded.

"How about we just say, that," Skye said, a little shyly, "that near or far, we'll be with each other until the very end."

"Well, hopefully you're not sending me off to my death," Steve said, and Skye rolled her eyes. "But close enough."

"The ones that we—care about never really leave us, anyway," Skye said.

Steve smiled. "That's not the exact quote."

Skye's cheeks flamed. "Close enough," she muttered.

"Time to head out, Cap." Natasha looked over at them with an eyebrow raised. "Bye, Skye. Good work on your sparring by the way. I look forward to sparring with you at our next meeting. You've improved a lot these past few months, and I'm sure May will help you be even better."

Skye flushed at the compliment. "Thanks, Natasha," she said. "That means a lot, coming from you."

Sam smirked at Skye. "Be good, kid," he said.

Skye grinned. "I solemnly swear," she promised, trying not to giggle.

She winked at Steve.

He smiled the entire flight.

 **Note:** So I put a little of my own views on Harry Potter into Steve's mouth. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Sorry (not sorry.)


End file.
